7

Ophelia

It's a banner fall afternoon in Boston.

Sun shining, streets bustling just after the noon hour, crowds thick on the downtown sidewalks as I watch the passersby through the window of the small record shop I'm loitering in.

If I were in a better mood, maybe I could enjoy it. But even the bright sunny day can't to anything to dispel the clouds that have been hanging over me for weeks.

Six weeks. Six weeks of no answers and barely any progress.

Things in the city have been quiet, at least when it comes to the covens or any rogue vamps causing trouble. There have been no leads, no arrests. Nothing but speculation and rumor.

And even with the contacts I've spoken to—the former friends and acquaintances, and the leads Cleo's sent me—I haven't been able to dig up a single thing that's been helpful in getting closer to the truth of it all.

Absently thumbing through a stack of records near the front windows, I keep my eyes trained on the coffee shop across the street, waiting for the familiar face I'm hoping is about to show any minute now.

It's the most action I've seen on the case in weeks, enough to snap all my instincts back into high-gear.

I've taken a couple other minor jobs while I've been here to break up the tedium and frustration of getting nowhere with the Bureau's investigation, but none of them have been much of a challenge.

A banking vice president who wanted proof her ad exec husband was cheating on her with the head of his creative department. A bit of work for a partner at a law firm who wanted to prove one of her lead attorneys was secretly meeting with opposing council on a big tech merger case. Easy, garden-variety work I could do with half a brain and one eye closed. People aren't nearly as clever as they think they are, and downright careless in covering their tracks.

Well, most people. With the notable exception being whoever's behind these supposed attacks.

Cleo's already broached the topic of calling me off the assignment, but I haven't given up, not yet.

There's something here. I can feel it in my bones.

I don't know if they're instincts I was born with, or simply ones that have been shaped through my years on the job, but they're screaming at me now. In every dead end I hit, there's a prickling at the back of my neck, a roiling in my gut that's never steered me wrong before.

The three attacks that kicked off this whole investigation happened in quick succession. Three victims in the space of a week, all reporting the same thing. The very same thing, in a way that's almost too perfect to be entirely believable.

The dead of night. A quiet, secluded spot. A vampire.

No description given, the attacks happening too quickly for the victims to get a good look at the perp.

Or so it's been reported.

The news coverage dried up in the past couple of weeks as the cases have gone from hot on the public's mind to lukewarm to nearing cold as no fresh developments have come out.

Still, I was sent here to do a job, and I'm done spinning my wheels. I want something , some answers for Cleo, anything other than the radio silence I've been met with so far.

And today that means talking to Cassandra.

Since I've been in Boston, Cassandra's been ignoring my calls and taking days to answer my texts, always with a ready excuse why she's unable to meet up. She's avoiding me, and that's fine.

Because today I'm coming to her.

Her schedule's taken me two weeks to get down, and there's still not much consistency in it. If she works, I have no idea what she does, other than it seems to involve a lot of appointments in coven-owned high rises and private estates in some of Boston's wealthiest neighborhoods.

And a coffee habit, apparently.

From my vantage point in the record shop, I watch as she approaches the front door of a bougie little coffee place. I hold myself back as she orders and takes a seat at a table near the front of the shop.

Then I'm moving. Across the street, into the shop, the bells over the door jangling lightly when I step inside.

Cassandra sits facing the front door, and her eyes widen when she spots me. She half-rises, but whether because I move too fast or she's not interested in making a scene, she sinks back down into her chair as I reach her table.

"Hey Andie," I say, reaching for the nickname she sometimes went by when we were in school.

It might have been a mistake.

Her brow furrows and she crosses her arms over her chest. "Phee. Didn't expect to see you here."

I fight a flinch and take a mental note. She knows, or at least she used to know, how much I hated going by ‘Phee.'

"Didn't you?" I ask as I settle into the seat across from her. "I've been back in the city for a few weeks now."

"I'm aware. And now you're what? Stalking me?"

"No," I say, then think for a moment and amend, "well, at least not much. And I wouldn't have bothered if you hadn't been blowing me off for weeks."

I try to keep my tone light, but the words strike a nerve.

Cassandra's always had an ethereal sort of beauty to her. Light brown hair styled in loose waves around a delicately sculpted face, eyes such a pastel blue they're nearly silver.

But the years that have passed since I last saw her have given her an unfamiliar edge. Something sharper, more canny and world-weary as her expression tightens into mistrust and suspicion.

"Your sister is leading the Bureau now, isn't she?"

My answering smile is stiff and forced. "Yeah. She was recently promoted."

Cassandra lets out a non-committal hum and takes a sip of her coffee. "And she's the reason you're here?"

" You're the reason I'm here."

A crack in all that brittle disdain. "Me?"

"Yes, you. You talked to Cleo, a little over a month ago. About what was happening with the rogue vampires here in the city, who you thought might be behind the—"

"I've got nothing to say about that," she says, defenses fully back in place as she takes another delicate sip. "I was mistaken. I never should have reached out to Cleo."

I shake my head, reaching for some excuse to keep her talking.

"We can keep this between us. It doesn't need to get back to anyone in the coven if you'd rather—"

"Listen, Ophelia," Cassandra says, voice lower now. "Whatever it is you think you're going to accomplish here—"

Her words cut off and her eyes go wide at the sight of something behind me. I only have a split second of spine-tingling awareness to register something's wrong before I hear a smooth, familiar voice.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." Casimir sinks into the seat beside me with his usual careless elegance, a warm smile on his face as he looks at me. "Sorry I'm late."

If I had fewer years of PI work under my belt, and fewer instances of finding myself in dodgy, unexpected situations, I might have absolutely lost the plot at the look in his eyes. Soft, affectionate, a bit teasing as he rests a casual arm on the back of my chair.

And even with that depth of experience, I'm sure I'm nowhere near as smooth as him as I return his smile and lean into his half-embrace.

"It's alright. Cassandra and I were just catching up."

I have no idea what the fuck is happening right now.

I have no idea how he found me, no idea what to do with the fact that he's acting like we're together , no idea how to calm the racing of my heart or the slightly swimmy sensation that washes over me at being this close to him for the first time in seven years. Surrounded by his scent—warm cologne and the crisp laundered smell of his suit, plus something beneath that's sharp and fresh and all him —and the sudden recipient of all that focused vampiric attention, it's all I can do to keep my face and body relaxed and turn my smile back to Cassandra.

Even though I have no idea what the fuck is going on, I do know she looks entirely off-balance right now. All her cool composure and defensive posturing is gone as her wide eyes dart back and forth between me and the vampire at my side.

It's the opening I need.

"I hope you don't mind I asked Casimir to join us. We've reconnected while I've been in the city."

A flash of uncertain calculation crosses Cassandra's face as she takes in the way we're sitting, along with a pulse of something that looks very much like suspicion when her eyes land on my neck.

My unbitten neck.

But the look is gone in an instant as she gives her head a small shake and regains her composure.

"Of course I don't mind," she says, her tone entirely different than it was just a minute ago. Friendly, warm, her smile wide and almost sincere as she addresses Casimir. "It's been a while."

"It has," he agrees. "I hope you've been well. Marcus and Philippe, too. I've been meaning to catch up with them, as long as we're all strolling down memory lane this fall with Ophelia back in town."

He gives me another long, tender look, squeezing my shoulder.

My stomach rolls. Not only at that look, but with the casual mention of two of Boston's most powerful vampires, one of whom I happen to have casually dated. My jaw aches with the effort it takes not to let my smile drop.

To her credit, Cassandra doesn't flinch, but her next words are the surrender I didn't expect her to give so easily.

"Thank you, and they have. I'm sure they'd love to tell you that themselves if you'd be interested in stopping by the Raven sometime."

"How about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow should be perfect. I'll let them know to expect you."

Well, that was… easy. Even though I'm not going to complain about the invite, that doesn't mean I'm not also incredibly irritated at just how damn effortless it was for him to swoop in and get her to fold immediately.

Whatever kind of clout he's got, apparently it's enough to bring the leaders of one of Boston's oldest covens to heal.

Looking down at her watch, Cassandra shoots us one last breezy smile.

"I've got another appointment. Let's plan on ten tomorrow night. Ask for Marcus at the door."

Without waiting for any further negotiation, she stands and hurries out of the shop, leaving Casimir and I sitting in absolute silence. We stay that way for ten seconds, thirty, a minute, both of us no doubt more than aware we need to give it a little time, keep playing whatever game we're playing in case Cassandra hung around to see what we do when she's not in earshot.

It would be smart to keep talking to him, keep acting, but as the silent seconds tick by, it becomes harder and harder to tolerate being this close to him.

I shrug off his arm and stand.

Legs shaky, chest tight, the need for fresh air burning in my lungs, I don't spare him a single glance as I weave through the tightly packed tables and out the front door. I only make it a half-dozen steps before Casimir calls out from behind me.

"Ophelia. Wait."

I spin to face him, mouth falling open, but no words come out when I catch the expression on his face.

All that teasing tenderness from inside the shop is gone.

In its place, a fierce scowl, a darkening of his crimson eyes that makes my heart leap into my throat.

"Not here," he says, voice low, before his hand settles on my upper arm and he leads me further down the street to the alleyway between the building the coffee shop is in and the bank beside it.

Ducking down the alley, he pulls me a few more steps forward before I wrench out of his grasp.

"This is far enough. What do you want? And what the hell was that back there?"

"You've drawn notice. From Marcus. And worse, from Philippe."

Philippe . Like it did when he first said it in the coffee shop, the name sends a shiver down my spine. Another of the shadowed, powerful vampires who hold court over Boston. Just like with Casimir, I always made it a point not to ask too many questions or know too much about him, but I know enough to be aware it's very, very bad if he's got his eye on me.

I suck in a breath. "I've been careful. I've—"

"Not careful enough." Casimir's tone is hard and flat, his gaze uncompromising as he sizes me up. "I don't know the extent of what he knows, or suspects, but the time for you working this case on your own has come to its end."

"I'm not about to quit now," I immediately snap back at him. "You gave Blair and Cleo your word, and so did I. I'm not going to—"

"I don't expect you to." Some of that hardness melts out of his expression as he takes a step closer. "You're done working this case alone. But we've just started working it together."